A Thousand Years in the Making
by Night Monkey
Summary: While trying to keep his head in medieval France, the Fourth Doctor meets a fellow time-traveler. This wayward traveler has been waiting centuries for such an encounter. Mild slash.


I have no idea where this story came from, or what spawned it. It simply popped into my head and demanded to be written. Who was I to argue?

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><p>As much as he enjoyed the culture of medieval Europe, the kings' propensity to order his decapitation was beginning to grate on his nerves. An innocent time traveler could only be accused of witchcraft or treason or wearing disgraceful barbarian clothes so many times before his patience wore thin. How quickly his patience eroded was influenced by how many of the king's horsemen were in pursuit of him. Judging by the storm of hooves and shouts, his patience didn't have much longer than a few seconds.<p>

"All this fuss over a little mutton," the Doctor muttered.

The horde of bloodthirsty soldiers behind him drew closer. The Doctor wasn't surprised. The mare he'd stolen in a desperate attempt to keep his head was a bony old nag barely capable of supporting his weight, never mind ferrying him to safety. He probably would have been better off stealing the cow tethered next to her. At least the sight of a lunatic ridding atop a cow would have given the guards pause.

"Come on, old girl! Get me to the river."

The aged mare responded to the encouragement by stumbling, failing to regain her footing, and falling with a horrified, shrill neigh. She landed on her side, pinning the Doctor's leg beneath her bulk. He tried to free himself from the struggling mass of horseflesh but only managed to cause himself considerable pain as his leg twisted in ways it wasn't meant to twist.

All the king's horses and all the king's men soon surrounded the trapped Doctor. He greeted them with a bright smile. They greeted him with naked swords. His smile faltered just a little.

"Gentlemen, I assure you I meant no offense—" the Doctor began.

One of the horsemen dismounted and addressed the helpless Time Lord. "For the attempted assassination of King Charles—"

"Attempted assassination? Isn't that a bit severe? That leg of lamb—"

"You have been sentenced to death by beheading. The sentence is to be carried out—"

"Couldn't possibly have been lethal, even if I had been aiming for him."

"Upon your immediate return to the castle."

Two more horsemen dismounted. One of them took the fallen mare's reins, and the other proceeded to slap the horse on the flank. With their combined efforts, they managed to get the mare on her hooves. She snorted at the Doctor with what had to be contempt as the soldiers led her away. Once they had the horse pointed towards the village, they sent her on her way with another swat to the flank. The nag had no trouble finding her way home.

With his horse ambling down the road and a legion of soldiers surrounding him, the Doctor had no choice but to surrender. He threw up his hands and was rudely jabbed in the back by one of the cavalry. He swiveled around to search for the ill-mannered soldier and was jabbed in the chest for his audacity.

"I'll have you know stabbing unarmed men reflects poorly on your upbringing," the Doctor said. "Surely your mother taught you better."

Unbeknownst to the Doctor, the soldier's mother had recently died of the plague. While that didn't give him a free pass to leap off his horse and try to cut the Doctor in half, at least it explained why the soldier had suddenly transformed into a furious hacking machine.

The Doctor had little room to maneuver. He was surrounded by horsemen who refused to break their circle, even though one of their rank had gone completely insane. For some reason, informing the raging soldier about his break from reality didn't make him drop his sword and consider his actions.

To avoid losing his nose, the Doctor stepped back and felt his body collide with a horse. The horse's rider reached down and grabbed the Doctor's scarf, yanking it sharply and tightening it around the Doctor's neck. Like a dog on a piteously short lease, the Doctor had no chance of escaping a death-stroke.

His scarf was going to be the death of him. It was bound to happen eventually, the Doctor supposed. After all, the scarf had saved his life and aided his outlandish plans innumerable times and all the while he'd dragged it through the mud and offered it up to lasers and swords, and had never thanked it. Even the most loyal scarf would eventually sicken of being slashed and burned and wrapped around such an ungrateful neck.

The bereaved soldier was still sane enough to realize it was his captain's horse the Doctor had backed against. His captain was, according to popular opinion, directly descended from the devil. The fear of being flayed to death for injuring the captain's steed forced the solider out of berserker mode. He still fully intended to kill the Doctor; he simply had to avoid piercing the Time Lord entirely and goring the horse behind him.

This was the end. The Doctor's only regret was that he hadn't had time to eat a final jelly baby. It was a shame, dying without one last taste. He hoped his next regeneration had a similar sweet tooth.

The Doctor tensed as he felt the tip of the sword placed against his chest. If he knew his personal anatomy, being skewered in that exact spot would put quite the hole in one of his hearts. While he did have a spare, there would be nothing left in him for the spare to pump.

A sound none of the soldiers had ever heard before halted the Doctor's execution. While the Doctor was familiar with the noise, he too looked around in confusion. The sound had no business postponing his death; it was over two centuries too early.

One of the soldiers suddenly screamed and pointed into the forest that lined the road. The Doctor's view was obscured by horses, but he was desperate to know if whatever had the soldier terrified was also responsible for the anachronistic boom.

"It's the demon, and he's brought the devil's trumpet with him!" the soldier shouted.

The devil's trumpet? Who knew? The Doctor had always taken the devil for more of a fiddler.

There came another echoing report and both man and horse panicked. The captain released the Doctor's scarf so he could take up his horse's reins. The soldier who'd been so keen to fillet the Doctor sheathed his sword and scrambled back into the saddle. All the righteous anger had been scared out of him.

"Leave him for the demon," the captain ordered. "Return to the castle."

Only too happy to oblige, and not particularly concerned that their retreat was anything but stately and dignified, the horsemen dug their heels into their horses' sides and took off at a gallop. The Doctor, utterly confused, was left alone in the cloud of dust the dozens of hooves had kicked up.

A figure, obscured by the dust cloud, emerged from the forest. As it approached, the Doctor was able to identify the species; it was, as far as he could tell, an ordinary human.

"You aren't from around here," the man said, noting the Doctor's clothing.

"The pot calls the kettle black," the Doctor replied. The gunshots might have been two hundred years before the arrival of gunpowder in mainland Europe, but the coat the stranger wore wouldn't be chic for nearly a millennium. It was, unless the Doctor's fashion sense had completely abandoned him, from World War II.

There were a couple of other things the pot wanted to call the kettle, but the middle of the road wasn't the place for it. Knowing the horsemen, they'd be back, accompanied by the village priest. To avoid any unnecessary exorcisms, the Doctor's rescuer led him into the woods.

Once they were safely out of sight of the road, the Doctor began asking questions. He was quite used to being chased around medieval France by men clamoring for his head, but he'd never been rescued from them by an airman before.

"How did you find yourself here?" the Doctor asked.

"Long story short, my ex-partner decided he needed to discuss Thai hookers with me. He wanted to know why I never told him about them; he was sure I keeping them all for myself. It turned into an argument, things were said, and vortex manipulators were damaged."

Captain Jack Harkness held out his wrist and pulled up his coat sleeve to reveal his charred vortex manipulator. The Doctor examined it with great curiosity. While it was a primitive device by Gallifreyan standards, for humans it represented an enormous leap forward in chronological technology.

"Fifty-first Century, if I'm not mistaken," the Doctor said.

"So you know your stuff. I don't suppose you can fix it. No offense to the locals, but I'm getting sick of the Bubonic Plague and I miss indoor toilets."

In the Doctor's professional opinion, the vortex manipulator had probably manipulated its last vortex. It was badly damaged, and the Doctor was no expert on repairing such devices. Then again, he wasn't an expert on repairing robot dogs, either, but he still managed to keep K9 in functioning order. Perhaps all hope was not lost.

"There's nothing to be done for it here—not even I am that handy with leaves and twigs—but I might have something on the TARDIS that—"

"TARDIS?" Jack exclaimed, pivoting around to stare at the Doctor.

"Yes. It stands for 'Time and—"

"Relative Dimensions in Space'. I know. You're a Time Lord, then."

Taken back, the Doctor nodded. "Biologically, at least. The Time Lords want little to do with me, and I desire even less from them."

"What's your name?" Jack crossed his fingers and _prayed_.

"The Doctor."

Jack whooped loudly enough to startle nearby wildlife. Of all the times and places in the universe, he had somehow landed in the same miserable, disease-ridden medieval village as the Doctor. It would appear, to a more romantic mind, that fate had brought them together.

"Which one?" Jack asked.

"I'm afraid you misunderstood. I am not merely a physician. My name is the Doctor."

"I know that. I mean, which regeneration are you? 'Cause last time I saw you, you were a skinny geek in a suit and sneakers."

"The fourth, and I've never worn… Ah, you're from my future. Fascinating!"

Jack echoed the Doctor's sentiment. This was incredibly fascinating. It was also starting to make Jack nervous. This was the Doctor's past, his distant pass. He wouldn't properly meet Jack until his ninth incarnation, and as hot as it was to see the Doctor as a much younger, much fluffier man, there was a timeline to consider here. How would time distort if Jack told the Doctor anything more? If Jack turned on the charm? If Jack reeled the Doctor in by that ridiculously long scarf of his and snogged him breathless?

"I'm not the Time Lord here, so I've got to ask, how is this going to affect our futures? When I first met you—in my timeline—you were in your ninth body and you didn't know me. But if my vortex manipulator malfunctioned and dumped me here, and I met you in your fourth body, isn't that going to change things?" Jack asked.

"My _ninth_? I'm pleasantly surprised I live that long! I always thought the Time Lords would find me too unsightly a stain on the species' name and have me vaporized long before then," the Doctor said with a chuckle.

"Actually, you make it past your ninth body, too. But is it safe to tell you that?"

"It's safe to tell me anything. I am many things, but a gossip is not one of them."

Jack couldn't tell if the Doctor was teasing him, or if the Doctor was completely crazy and missing the point. The Time Lord's facial expression made either option equally likely.

"Time isn't so fragile, but if you are so concerned about it, let me put your fears to rest. My ninth self won't remember any of this," the Doctor said.

"And you're sure?"

"Is that your cave?" The Doctor pointed to a hole obscured by brambles.

"Yes, but are you sure?"

"I don't suppose you've found anything of interest on the walls? Paintings, for instance. We're north of Lascaux but one can hope."

"I haven't explored the cave; I only found it last night. But will you please—"

"I do love a good cave painting. I had to discourage a talented young artist from immortalizing me at Chauvet. Took a bit of work, but I convinced him to replace me with a saber-tooth cat. Not quite as handsome, but more appropriate to the time period."

"You're not remotely sure of anything, are you?"

"Nonsense! I'm sure jelly babies are delicious. Here, have some." Jack found a white paper sack thrust into his hands.

The Doctor strode into the cave, taking note of the remains of a recent fire and a scattering of bloody chicken feathers at the entrance. His rescuer was not much of a housekeeper.

Jack was not the least bit surprised to see the Doctor disappear into the cave without so much as a burning branch to light the way. The Doctor would never stop to consider the dangers of breaking his leg or falling into a chasm when some Neanderthal's doodling might be right around the corner. Bravely shouldering the role of the responsible adult, Jack took the time to pull out a pocket-sized flashlight before following the Doctor.

The flashlight proved unnecessary as the cave ended in a wall of fallen rock only ten meters back. It was dim, but there was still enough sunlight to see the cave was free of either caveman drawings or danger. A little disappointed, the Doctor returned to the mouth of the cave.

"I don't mean to impose, but would you mind if I stayed here until dark? My TARDIS is well-hidden, but I'd prefer the cover of night before we tried to reach her," the Doctor said.

"Sounds like a great idea, Doc. It would be a shame if I had to scare any more innocent sentries," Jack replied.

"Why do they call you a demon? You're strange in more ways than one, but you hardly seem evil."

Jack forced a laugh. If the Doctor knew some of the things he'd done while employed by the Time Agency or Torchwood, his opinion might change.

"They cut off my head, threw my body in the woods, and I returned twenty minutes later to steal their chickens. They think it's black magic or I'm some immortal hell-beast."

The Doctor took a moment to absorb Jack's story before saying, "Then my senses haven't been playing cruel tricks on me. You are a permanent fixture in time."

Jack, remembering the tenth Doctor's disgust at his eternal status, braced for another round of unpleasantness.

To his relief, the younger Doctor didn't react so strongly. He merely nodded and looked for a place to sit down. Jack had dragged a log into the campsite to serve as a chair, and the Doctor took a seat. There was plenty of room for another backside on the log, and Jack needed no invitation to join the Doctor.

There were still hours until nightfall, and sitting quietly on a rotting log was no way to spend them. Jack decided he didn't care if any of this changed his future; it was too good of an opportunity to squander. He was camping with the Doctor and the Doctor wasn't burdened by destroyed civilizations or angst or loneliness. So many of his fantasies had started out this way that he'd lost count.

"It's a little hot for that scarf, isn't it?" Jack inquired innocently.

"Perhaps it is a bit warm." The Doctor unraveled the scarf from his neck and slung it over a nearby tree branch. The scarf trailed the ground and the Doctor wrapped it around the branch until it was properly suspended.

"And that coat? Looks stifling to me."

The Doctor removed his coat and used the tree as coat rack. Divested of his cold weather clothing, he turned to Jack.

"I notice you're still wearing _your_ coat," the Doctor observed.

"No I'm not." Jack didn't bother hanging his coat. He slipped it off and chucked it behind him.

Grinning, the Doctor returned to the log, sitting perceptively closer to Jack.

"And what about that shirt? Why don't you take it off and feel the sunshine?"

The Doctor slipped out of his simple white shirt. Jack attempted to disrobe and was faced with the task of unbuttoning his shirt with fingers that had forgotten how to function. Jack was a half second away from tearing his shirt off when the Doctor's skillful fingers intervened.

On equal ground and equally bare, the immortal human and the Time Lord paused to "feel the sunshine". That ruse lasted a full minute before Jack grabbed the Doctor's shoulders and pulled him in for a stunning kiss. While the Doctor was properly distracted, Jack snaked a hand into the Time Lord's mess of curls. For the love of all things holy, this Doctor had _hair_!

The magnificent quantity of hair proved to be Jack's undoing. He practically tackled the Doctor and they both tumbled off the log. Jack lay atop the Doctor, marveling at the skin-to-skin contact, before reluctantly rolling off him.

"Shoes and trousers, who the hell needs shoes and trousers?" Jack asked. He tore at his shoelaces and managed to loosen them to the point he could kick his shoes off. One flew away into the forest and Jack somehow didn't give a shit if it was gone for good.

Neither he nor the Doctor had any need of shoes, trousers, or anything else for quite some time.

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><p>Night came and by the time the stars appeared Jack and the Doctor were at least partially clothed. A half-hour of rooting through underbrush had produced Jack's discarded shoe. The Doctor's scarf had found a new home around the immortal's neck, however.<p>

"I believe it's dark enough to reach the TARDIS unnoticed," the Doctor said.

"I suppose so. We could wait for those clouds to cover the moon, though. Better safe than sorry," Jack said.

The moon was hardly more than a sliver, and they both knew its presence was no danger. Still, the Doctor agreed. Why take unnecessary risks? It wouldn't be more than an hour or so before the approaching rain provided total cover.

They could do a lot with that hour.

THE END


End file.
